Home is Where the Caskett Is
by softydog88
Summary: AU, Castle and Beckett meet in what would be season 5, with Alexis already at Columbia. Starts off as film noir, but changes quickly as the characters grow.
1. Chapter 1

_Home is Where the Caskett Is_

_Chapter One_

_Kate_

He swaggered into the precinct with an arrogance that I could smell a mile away. I don't know if it was his cocky stride or that smug smile on his square face, but he definitely had my attention. This guy had trouble written all over him, and, to tell you the truth…it was kind of hot. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as he passed me, as though he was telling me that our paths would cross soon, and I felt myself half-hoping it was true. I was gasping for breath a little and my heart started to flutter. Irrational, I know; I'm supposed to be a dispassionate detective, but I couldn't help it. I took another look, discreetly, or so I thought, and it was only then that I noticed he was in handcuffs. I was impressed that he could strut like that with the bracelets on. Most creeps doing the perp walk were so scared to be here they had to be dragged down the hallway. No doubt this guy had left a trail of broken hearts all over Manhattan, and I had a premonition that mine might be next. I wasn't about to let that happen, of course, but in order to prevent it, I needed to know more about this mope, so I high-tailed it in to see Gates. She'd have the skinny; I guess it came with the territory, being the captain and all. Of course that wasn't the only reason she was in the know; I had it on good authority that she was mixed up with every felon and cutthroat in New York. But she found out I had the dirt on her, and one night, after a few tense hours of…negotiations…she and I came to an understanding. She gave me my freedom to investigate homicides as I saw fit, and I gave her freedom from learning about the criminal justice system from inside the segregation ward of the Manhattan Correctional Facility For Women.

"What is it, Beckett?" said Gates before my ass was even planted in her precious Ikea chair. That was Gates all right; she didn't pull any punches. Then again, neither did I.

"What's with the beefcake?" I asked, tossing my head in his direction. "He looks like a real Lothario. I'm guessing he's some kind of con man. He's probably been swindling little old ladies out of their hard-earned cash with a dozen roses and a smile that could stop traffic." I didn't tell her that same smile just about stopped my own heart a minute ago. I was still breathing heavily and the flutter returned, so I turned my head away, both to keep Gates from noticing and to try to get one last look at Mr. Smiles, preferably from behind. My timing was perfect, he was just about to be helped into the interview room by two of New York's finest. He had the kind of hard ass that I expected; it went perfectly with the rest of his carved-out-of-marble features. Damn it, we had just arrested G.I. Joe! I wondered if I could get him to use that Kung-Fu grip on my…

"You interested in this guy?" said Gates. She had a tendency to interrupt my fantasies at the most inopportune times. The bitch. "Well," she continued, "don't bother. He's just a writer. Of mystery novels, if you can believe it. We found him at a crime scene, presumably to do "research" for his latest pulp piece. If research includes having the vic's blood all over his hands, then he's doing a bang-up job. Of course, if the fact that his books are all in the discount section of the five-and-dime are any indication, he's just another hack trying to make it in the Big Apple. Just like a hundred other hard luck cases out there."

_Yeah, only none of those other hundred hacks looked like this_, I thought. "When's the arraignment?" I asked, trying my best to look bored.

"Beckett, if you want to take this guy's case, just say so. I'm not exactly immune to the charms of a bad boy, you know." Suddenly, she stood up and I could tell that she was pissed because her eyes were darting back and forth inside their sockets.

"What the hell?" said Gates.

I turned around to find out what had her so riled up. There was a woman standing outside the office. Not just any woman, but Audrey Hepburn in _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, with the skin-tight dress, elbow-length gloves and cigarette holder a foot-and-a-half long. Well, if Audrey Hepburn was 70 years old and had red hair, that is. This dame pushed her way into the office and stared at me until I stood up. Then she ever so daintily sat down in the chair I had just vacated and looked at Gates like she was waiting for her to stand up and curtsy or something. Turns out, I wasn't far off.

"I don't blame you for being star-stuck," said the ballsy old broad. "Yes, it's me. Martha Rodgers, in the flesh." She held out her hand, palm-down, but Gates didn't take the bait. Instead, she got out a cancer stick of her own, shoved it in her mouth, leaned in towards the has-been and tried to light it using Rodgers' own cigarette, like they do in so many World War II movies.

"Sorry, but it's not lit," said Rodgers. "That would be utterly distasteful."

"Yeah, the lack of smoke should have tipped you off, sir," I chimed in. Yes, I called her sir. She said it was a sign of respect; I think she was packing a penis inside those slacks. Gates glared at me, then tried to get the upper hand again.

"Am I supposed to know who you are?" she asked.

"Well, maybe not," said Rodgers. "Not unless you're an habitué of…_The Tony Awards._" She held out her hand and cocked her head in what was supposed to be a dramatic flourish, I guess.

"That would be no," said Gates. She took out a lighter and lit her cigarette anyway, coaxing a small, lady-like cough out of Rodgers. "Now, what can I do for you, Martha?"

Rodgers looked disappointed, but that wasn't about to stop her. "I understand that my son – he's the one that was just marched through here in handcuffs - has been detained at this facility. I'm here to bail him out." She reached into her purse and swapped her cigarette holder for a checkbook.

"To whom do I make it out this time?" she asked, brandishing an elaborate fountain pen like some cops here in the twelfth precinct brandish their guns.

"This time?" I said. "Your son has a habit of breaking hearts...er, getting arrested?" _Calm down, Kate. Don't tip your hand too soon. _

Rodgers looked at me and her eyes narrowed, as though she was studying me. I absentmindedly pulled at my blouse a few times to cool off a bit. I had forgotten that was my tell. Rodgers smiled slightly in acknowledgment and turned back to face Gates.

"Yes, this has happened before, but if you access that computer of yours, you'll find out that each time, the charges were dropped. I expect they will be again."

Gates looked at me, then at Rodgers. "Actually," she explained, "your son is not under arrest...yet. We brought him in for questioning because he has the victim's blood on his hands, but he said he arrived after the shooting and he was just trying to save her life. And, as it turns out, we have a witness that corroborates his statement. Now, I was just about to tell detective Beckett here to question your son. If everything is on the up and up, he won't be arrested, he'll be let go. But that's a couple of hours away at best."

"If he's not under arrest, why is he in handcuffs?" asked Rodgers. The 60's throwback had a point.

"It turns out, Martha, that your son is a minor celebrity," said Gates. "On the walk back to the squad car, several women came up to him exposing their...bodies...and asking for autographs. You son, bloody hands and all, was trying to oblige them and it was just too much drama to deal with. So, the cops at the scene handcuffed him. They were going to un-cuff him in the squad car, but they needed a way to keep him in line. He's a handful, Martha."

"That happens to Richard all the time," said Rodgers. "You don't know how often I have to explain to hordes of overzealous women that he's _not_ Jason Bateman."

It suddenly got loud in the squad room. There was the perp, Richard Rodgers himself, surrounded by uniforms clamoring for autographs. Gates leaped out of her chair and started barking orders like a drill instructor at Marine boot camp. A moment later, Rodgers was standing in an empty squad room, smiling at me like he had just seen me naked.

"Here," said Gates, thrusting a file at me, "read this and go interview Castle. Find out what he knows and get back to me."

"Wait a minute, the suspect is Richard..._Castle?_" I knew that name. Fell asleep to his books more often than not. I'd read each of his Derrick Storm novels at least four times. He was my favorite author since I was at Stanford, and now here he was, in my squad room, looking all kinds of desirable...and I was going to interrogate him. The flutter started in again, and this time it didn't give any indication that it was going away. I grabbed the file and went back to my desk to read, just as detectives Ryan and Esposito were taking Castle back into the interrogation room. I couldn't help but notice the smile on Castle's face as we made eye contact. I hoped he didn't notice how that flutter was affecting me.


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter Two_

_Rick_

I could hear her futzing about on the other side of the two-way mirror. At least I hoped it was her because it would have been a major let-down had it been one of her lackeys. She intrigued me. I know I had only caught a glimpse of her as I was being taken through the squad room, but something about her seemed familiar. I was certain I had met her before, though I had no idea where, and that, truth be told, surprised me. I have a way of remembering beautiful dames, and this one fit the bill, and how. Her eyes were dark and mysterious, her scent, what little I could make of it in passing, was tropical and I thought I noticed just the hint of a smile on her lips. It drove me wild. Well, why shouldn't it? I was in a massive dry spell; my love life lately had all the makings of a very depressing Chekhov play. I had spent plenty of time wondering why and I think I was beginning to figure it out. I had killed the hero of my books, Derrick Storm, because he bored me. And now, I was bored with the women I was dating, too. They were beautiful, of course, and that's a great start, but it seemed that they just wanted to get close to me because I'm a bestselling author, and they assumed that I'm rich. I am, but talking about my Ferrari or my house in the Hamptons on every date gets old quickly. As a result, I had been on a lot of first-and-last dates recently. I didn't even want to sleep with these women anymore, a major change in my MO. I was depressed, according to my daughter, Alexis, who knew me better than either of my ex-wives, even. I knew she was right and I also knew that I had to do something about it. I started to spend a lot of time walking the streets of Gotham, just trying to figure out what to do differently, how to find my way to a meaningful relationship with a broad that mattered. I wanted to find someone who could challenge me, push me, and most of all, thrill me. And this dame was not only a detective, she was a _homicide_ detective, which meant that she was smart and that we both spent a lot of time trying to catch murderers. Sure, she was doing the job a lot more literally than me, but I could live with that. And based on what I knew about her so far, I could live with her, too.

The door squeaked open and she quickly took a seat opposite me, slamming a dossier on the table. I guess she was trying to make me uneasy, but it wasn't going to work. I've been down this road before, in smoky rooms with heat lamps turned on me, just to see how it would feel to a perp. I could take anything she could dish out. The kinkier the better.

"That's some record you've got, Castle," she said. "I was especially impressed with the indecent exposure charge. Takes some gumption to walk across Central Park buck naked, especially in the snow."

"It wasn't indecent," I said. "I look _good _naked. And besides, I wasn't actually charged."

"I know you've got friends in high places," she said, "but they won't help you now."

"Help me with what? You're not busting me, are you? I was under the impression that you need my help with this case."

She swallowed hard, and I knew I had hit a nerve. She decided to turn the thumbscrews a bit tighter to try to gain the upper hand.

"Let's get one thing straight, Castle," she nearly shouted. "I'm solving this murder with or without you. But you can help us, in which case we might catch the murderer quicker and get his ass off the streets, or you can walk right out that door with the certain knowledge that if I ever catch you at a crime scene again, you'll be seeing the inside of the big house faster than the speed of light."

I decided to chance it. "OK," I said, standing up. I paused for a moment, taking in those brown orbs of perfection that most women merely call 'eyes.' "I'll catch you later, babe."

Her mouth popped open and froze in an 'O' of shock. It wasn't until I had left the interrogation room that I heard her shout "don't count on it!"

* * *

My phone rang an hour later. I let it go to voice mail; I wasn't about to kowtow to this dame anytime soon. Let her stew for a bit; it would make things that much sweeter when I showed up to save the day. After a few minutes, I checked my message to see just how desperate she had become in my absence.

"Hi, Daddy," came Alexis' angelic voice. "I'm still at the library. I'll be stopping by at 8 instead of 7. Bye!"

I decided to open a new bottle of Scotch. I've never been so down in the dumps before that a protracted tug-o'-war with a nice single malt couldn't cure it. During my second trip to the freezer to refill the ice bucket, the doorbell rang. "Shit," I thought, I can barely see the door in my condition. How the hell am I going to open it?"

The next thing I knew, the door had slammed into my head, courtesy of Alexis opening it with her key, and I was nursing the blow to my noggin and my ego from the floor.

"Classy," said Beckett as she stepped over me. I got an eye-level view of a 3-inch stiletto heel that put the fear of God into my soul. This was some broad, maybe more than I had ever known, and I had known some broads in my day. Alexis helped me up, and I immediately proceeded to make things worse.

"Drink?" I asked, holding up the now half-empty bottle of Scotch.

"I'm good," said Beckett, no doubt rejecting a few other, more cutting, remarks. I made a mental note to be mad at her. I'd show her who the bigger man was. Then I poured myself another drink, but Alexis swooped in and grabbed it, then poured it into the sink. I decided it was best not to remind her that it cost $225 a liter.

"Beckett," I said, somehow slurring my e's, "I thought you had blown me off. Finally realized you need my expertise?"

"Hardly," she replied. "But I thought I could at least get you to look at some crime scene photos. That is until I found out you were soused but good."

"I'm not..." My head was spinning like one of those puke rides at a carnival near you. Beckett had a wild look in her eyes, as though she was trying to coax the next word out of me. "Drunk," I finally managed to get out.

"You _are_ the little engine that could!" she said. I hate sarcasm in a cop. It's an ugly quality.

"So, you'll be on your way, then?" I offered, while hoping she would stay.

She threw a business card on the table. "Call me in a week when you're sober," she said. "I'm a cop, I can get you in a good program."

I stared at the card until the writing snapped into focus. "This only has your work number," I said, pulling a pen out of my jacket pocket. "What's your cell?"

"My cell is only for people I work with, Mr. Castle. Not for consultants."

She stood up and I caught a whiff of coconut as she shimmied over to the door. Nobody walks like that, I mean nobody. She had to be doing it for my benefit, which was manifesting itself in my pants right now. She opened the door and looked back at me.

"Nice shiner," she said, casting a glance at my now swollen eye. "You should put some ice on it, if you haven't used it all. Or a big slab of...meat. That works, doesn't it?"

"Thanks for prestocking my dreams," I muttered as she exited, leaving me to contemplate a cold shower, or just plopping on the bed and passing out. I chose neither. Instead, I fired up the MacBook and started writing. I had an idea for a new character, a beautiful broad with balls of steel and a mouth that cut men to the quick. Four hours later, I finally staggered to bed, dreaming about my new detective, Nikki Heat.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter Three_

_Rick_

I awoke with a pounding headache and a feeling of impending doom. As hangovers go, this was one of the worst. I felt wave after wave of sharp, stabbing pain coursing across my skull. I was certain there was a team of gremlins with pickaxes whacking away at my cerebral cortex. I wasn't sure if the hangover was caused by the Scotch I drank pre-Beckett, the vodka post, or the bourbon when I woke up at four AM to pee, and I wasn't going to quibble. Quibbling takes effort, and effort causes pain. Sounds like something Yoda would say. Screw it, I wasn't in the mood to play puppet philosopher. I had other things on my mind, like somehow managing to get 800 milligrams of Advil Liqui-Gels into my bloodstream without moving my head.

"Oh good, you're up," said mother as she barged into my room. "Detective Beckett called. She thought you might be willing to go to the station to look at those photos after all. I told her I'd ask you, even though I personally doubt it. You see, I spent half an hour this morning collecting empty hooch glasses and putting them in the dishwasher. I haven't seen you this upset since your marriage to Gina blew up."

Mother sat on the edge of the bed and smiled, looking me straight in the eyes, as only a mother can. I thought she was going to say something tender, but instead she dropped a bottle of Visine next to my head and said "use it. It's gotten me through the effects of many after an after-show party on Broadway. Then get your keyster out of bed and into the shower and go look at those photos. You never know what you're going to find, once you open your eyes." She stood up to walk away, but I reached out and grabbed her arm.

"That's _it_?" I said. "No words of sympathy, no motherly advice?"

"Richard, you won't get any sympathy from me for going on a bender that would put Peter O'Toole on the wagon. As for motherly advice, what would you have me say? That I'm worried about you? I am. That I think you're acting like a fool? I do. That you're creating a terrible example for Alexis? You are. That you keep whining about not being in a constructive relationship, but you don't do anything about it? What are you waiting for? Do you expect that nice detective to issue you an engraved invitation?"

I decided to play dumb. "Detective? You mean Beckett?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Richard," she said curtly. "Yes, detective Beckett. You still have a chance with her, though not if you keep making an ass of yourself at every turn."

"What makes you think I have any interest in her?" I asked, though I admit I was afraid of the answer.

"I saw the way you looked at her, Richard. You were grinning like a kid in a candy store. And then, after you stormed out of the police station, she called your bluff, and look what happened. If there was a way to extract the alcohol from your bloodstream, it could supply a hospital for a week."

"Sorry, mother, but you're way off," I said. "OK, I'll admit that she's...well, breathtaking. She smells nice, that's for sure. My heart stopped for about five seconds the first time I heard her laugh. She's smart, really smart. And she has this shimmy when she walks that just about knocked me sober last night. I almost..."

I realized that I was staring into space and I knew that mother had seen right through me. "Richard, you can barely keep the drool in your mouth," she said. "And even though I only spent a few minutes with her, I can tell she's interested in you, though heaven knows why with all your macho posturing. I'm not saying she's willing to go out on a date with you after your bout with the sauce last night, but I am saying the interest is there. So here's my motherly advice. Quit screwing around and go see her. Apologize for being drunk. Listen to her, treat her with respect, and then, if he hasn't shot you out of sheer frustration, maybe ask her out on a date."

I have to admit, I felt a lot better hearing that. Maybe I did have a chance with Beckett. I decided to take a shower, so I swung my legs off the bed and dropped to the floor in a heap of pain. The 12th precinct, and Beckett, was going to have to wait until I got that Advil and a really strong cup of coffee.

* * *

_Kate_

I spent the night re-reading _Storm Front_, Castle's first novel with his detective Derrick Storm. I was beginning to understand his arrogance; anyone who wrote this well could get away with being a little full of himself. The book was mesmerizing, and the twist ending unfolded so perfectly it still had me fooled every time I read it. The sun was coming up as I finished, and I felt like an idiot for not getting any sleep. Exhaustion isn't exactly conducive to good detective work. I made a pot of coffee and sat down with the book, still unable to put it back on the shelf. For the hundredth time I opened the front cover and read Castle's words, written in an elegant cursive style, smooth and confident. "To Kate – glad to have you as a fan! Good luck at Stanford. Rick Castle." OK, it was just cookie-cutter prose that he writes for all those bimbos that fawn at his feet, but it still felt special somehow. I remember the day clearly. I was at a bookstore in San Jose, wearing my Stanford sweatshirt, which, true to its name, was making me sweat. I was embarrassed and I felt like a silly fangirl, but Castle was the first celebrity I ever stood in line to meet, and the hour I had to wait was worth it. He was all smiles and perfectly charming – not like the egomaniac I had just met. He didn't pull away when I grasped his powerful hand with my clammy one; he just asked me my name and then he grinned and signed my book. And since then not a month has gone by when I haven't taken that book out, stared at his signature and relived that entire hour in my head. It was the first time I realized I had a flutter.

* * *

The precinct coffee was God-awful, and _Freudian Sip _was in the wrong direction, so I stopped at a placed called _Java Junkies _instead. It was my second-favorite joint; the coffee was great and it was full of women talking so fast it was impossible to understand what they were saying. I opened the door and came face-to-face with Castle.

"Detective, I was just on my way to the station to take you up on your offer," he said. "Here, this is for you." He held out a cup of coffee which I happily accepted. "Why don't we have a seat and talk about the case?" he asked. He pointed to an empty table and we sat down. I added cream and two sugars to my coffee and he watched me intently, like he was taking mental notes.

"You can call me Beckett," I said. "And I must say, I'm impressed that you're looking so good this morning."

He smiled again, and I felt the flutter building up in my chest. "Er, I mean, last night you were blitzed out of your skull and this morning you're looking positively sober."

"Yeah," said Castle sheepishly, "I'm sorry about that. I should never have had so much to drink. Especially since I have Alexis. She's my daughter, the one who let you into my apartment last night."

"I know. We talked in the hallway for a couple of minutes before she let me in. She told me she's going to Columbia. She's clearly intelligent and grounded, Castle. You should be proud of her."

"Proud?" he said. "Was Einstein proud of the theory of relativity? Was Leonardo Da Vinci proud of the Mona Lisa? You know, Beckett, I've written a lot of fiction over the years, created a lot of characters and stories. I've lost myself in the lives of my creations, because they were the product of my own mind and a lot of hard work. And nothing, not the royalties, the awards, the adulation or even the books themselves compare with my greatest creation. If Alexis had never been born..." He looked away for a few seconds, and when he looked back, he started talking again. Alexis had opened the floodgates, and I sat there, sipping coffee and listening to him paint a portrait of his daughter that almost had me in tears. Leonardo Da Vinci, indeed.

* * *

_Rick_

"Refill time," I said as I handed Beckett another cup of rocket fuel. She grabbed the lid, but I stayed her hand with my own, marveling at how soft her skin was. "Cream, two sugars," I said. She smiled and looked down at the table. Funny, I didn't peg her as shy. For a minute neither of us said anything. Finally, she broke the silence.

"I went to Stanford," she offered without any elaboration.

"Great school," I said. "I have a lot of fans out there."

"I know. I was one of them." She reached into her book bag and pulled out a copy of my novel _Storm Watch._

"Open it, Castle," said Beckett, softly. I did, and read the inscription I had made to her a long time ago.

"So you see," she said, "we have a little bit of a history."

"Yeah, I guess we do."

Beckett's phone rang and she put it on speaker.

"Coming to work today, detective," said Gates, "or should we just move the whole damn station house into your apartment?"

"On my way in now, sir," said Beckett.

"Stop at the morgue first. Lanie has something for you. And when you get here, we've got a suspect for you to interview. He's in the pokey drying out."

"Got it, Captain. And I'm bringing Castle with me. He's decided to help us with the case."

"Will wonders never cease?" said Gates as she hung up the phone.

We took our time getting to the morgue. She started talking about her work, and I quickly realized something: Kate Beckett is a great detective. The way she talked about police procedure was enthralling, if you can believe it, but here's the thing: it was only that way because she put her own spin on it that took it to the next level. I knew standard operating procedure like the back of my hand; it was an occupational hazard. But Beckett was smart and instinctive. She made both logical leaps and intuitive ones, and she found clues others overlooked and tied all the threads together. It was this intelligence that I was missing in my love life; the aspect of a woman that made me not just want to spend time with her, but to know her, to understand her. By the time we got to the morgue, I realized that I was incredibly lucky to have met her. Or maybe it was fate; we did have a history, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

_Chapter Four_

_Rick_

As we made our way to the morgue, I was growing more interested in everything Beckett had to say. Even if it wasn't a major turn-on that she was so intelligent, I was certainly learning a lot that I could use in my work. My new character, Nikki Heat, was becoming more fully-formed by the minute. Plus, the effects of last night's binge were wearing off, and, to top it off, I felt a weird twitch right in the center of my chest. It wasn't painful or scary, just new, and rather pleasant at that. I looked at Beckett, happily chirping away about flesh decomposition between sips of coffee and I had a feeling I knew where that twitch came from. By the time we reached the morgue, I was feeling on top of the world.

"Lanie, this is Castle," said Beckett the moment we were in front of the body. "He's consulting on this case. Castle, Lanie is our medical examiner."

"I'm a big fan," said Lanie as she shook my hand. I noticed her glance at Beckett, who quickly shook her head and looked away. Had these two talked about me already?

"Thanks for reading my books," I said. "I love writing, but meeting fans"-I stole my own glance at Beckett-"makes the whole process even sweeter." Beckett pretended not to notice the look, but I knew better.

"What have you got for us?" said Beckett, looking mildly annoyed.

"No ID, I'm afraid. Her prints aren't on record and no ID card was found on her. We don't even have a guess as to who she might be, so DNA or dental records won't help. However, she's between 20 and 25, 5 feet 4 inches tall, Caucasian. I can help you with the gun, though. Here's the bullet." She picked up a slug with a tweezers and held it under the lighted magnifying glass. "5.56 mm, with some weird striations in the body. I hadn't seen them before, so I sent a picture to the FBI. They said it's from a rifle with special grooves in the barrel, in this case, an AR-15 assault rifle. The grooves cause the bullet to wobble a little bit in the air, instead of normal grooves which make a bullet fly straight as can be. It hit our Jane Doe's heart and...fluttered around a bit, doing a lot of damage." Lanie again glanced at Beckett and I thought she was about to laugh. Beckett, far from being amused, looked positively furious. She got it together and said, through clenched teeth, "we only recovered one shell casing from the crime scene. Why would anyone use an AR-15 to shoot a single round? It's too hard to conceal an assault rifle in public and in broad daylight."

"Were there any other shootings in the area?" I asked.

"Not since yesterday," said Beckett. "Why?"

"If the killer is walking around Manhattan with an assault rifle, it's a good bet that he intends to use it soon. If he had a target in mind, some public place with a lot of people...and if Jane Doe here had a cell phone and saw the assault rifle, she might have called 911."

"Right," said Beckett. "He sees her making the call and knows he can't let her live because she's a witness, so he kills her, then takes her phone so we can't trace her."

"Do homeless people have cell phones?" asked Lanie. Beckett ignored her. "Espo," she barked into her phone, "run a check on 911 calls made in the area our Jane Doe was found. Maybe we'll get lucky with a partial voice recording."

Beckett was seemingly lost in thought. She stared at the vic, as though she was trying to figure out who the girl was through some sort of cosmic connection. "Well, Castle," she said, not taking her eyes off Miss Doe, "it's your turn. Let's go talk about what you saw."

* * *

_Kate_

The difference in Castle's demeanor between our first trip to the interrogation room and this one was remarkable. Instead of that ridiculous grin, this time he simply had a pleasant smile. He didn't say anything as I sat down, thankfully. I decided to start by asking him what he saw.

"I was walking through Riverside park on my way to meet Alexis for lunch at Columbia when I heard the shot. It came from behind me so I spun around, but I didn't see a thing. When I turned back, I saw the victim crawling on the ground. She only made it a few feet, then she collapsed. I turned her over, saw the wound in her chest, called 911 and started CPR."

"You didn't see anyone else while you were tending to the vic?"

"No, I was lost in what I was doing. Crazy, really, because for all I knew, the maniac was still roaming around shooting people. But I didn't even think of that. I just kept trying my best to get her breathing again. The next thing I knew, Ryan and Esposito were pulling me off of her, but it didn't matter. She was already dead."

There was a profound look of sadness on Castle's face as he spoke that last sentence. I didn't say anything; I figured it was better to let him deal with the trauma than to push him for more answers.

"I couldn't save her...I couldn't save her," he muttered. I put my hand on his and lightly squeezed it, just letting him know I was there for him. He didn't even look at me. Suddenly, Espo burst into the interrogation room.

"Turns out there was a 911 call," he said. "Untraceable phone, and the line went dead before the caller said anything."

Castle finally looked at me. "I kept thinking how young she was, barely older than Alexis," he said. He shook his head. "I guess I'm ready to look at the photos now."

"Tell you what," I said, "let's go look at those over at my desk. You don't need to be in here room for that."

Castle sat down at my desk and I got the photos and handed them to him. "See if anything stands out, Castle," I said. "I'll be back in fifteen minutes."

* * *

_Rick_

I looked at the pictures for a while, but my mind was a million miles away. Jane Doe. Alexis. And Beckett, of course. She held my hand for just an instant back in the interrogation room, but the twitch came roaring back under her touch. I thought about the message I wrote in her book. It wasn't my normal signature. I sign hundreds of books a day when I'm on tour, and my go-to message was always, "thanks, Rick Castle." I didn't remember the encounter, but there had to be _something_ that I saw in her for me to personalize it like that. It was hard to believe that she could have that kind of effect on me as a college kid .

"Here you go," said Beckett as she handed me a cup of coffee. "Two creams, three sugars."

"You noticed," I said, and I smiled at her. She smiled back, the twitch intensified, and we just sat there smiling at each other until Ryan showed up with Gates and ruined the mood.

"I went through all the missing persons reports from this year," Ryan said. "I cross-referenced them by age, height, weight and race. I emailed you the spreadsheet, but I can tell you there were 107 women who fit the general description."

"107?" I said. "How can that be? It sounds way too high."

"In a city of eight million people," said Beckett, "it really isn't."

"So where does that leave us?" I wondered.

"There's the guy in the pokey," said Beckett. "Maybe we can get something from him."

"You can't," said Gates "I just kicked his worthless ass out of here a few minutes ago. Ryan and Esposito gave him the good cop, bad cop routine, and now they don't think he saw anything. He was just drunk out of his skull."

"So, I said, "if he wasn't a witness, then am I a suspect after all?" I felt like Macbeth, unable to wash the blood from his hands.

"Nope," said Gates. "Beckett cleared you yesterday, though on shockingly little evidence, I have to say."

That slowed my heartbeat down to normal. "Thank you," I said to Beckett. She just shrugged and said "well, let's whiteboard it."

* * *

A half-hour later, Beckett, Esposito, Ryan and I were looking at the whiteboard. Beckett had written all we knew about the crime on the board and added a photo of the victim and a silhouette of the killer. She stepped back and sighed. "We're not getting anywhere," she said. "No witnesses, no suspects, no security cam footage, no clue to who the victim was."

"I just got a text from Lanie," said Espo. "The tox screen came up negative. No drugs, no alcohol, not even much food in her stomach. Another dead end."

"Lanie was able to identify the shooter's position based on the bullet trajectory, right?" I asked.

"Yes," said Beckett, "but that was no help. It was in the middle of some tall grass, so there were no shoe imprints. We used a metal detector and found only the one shell casing. And he wasn't hidden; he was standing out in the open where everyone could see him, but no one did."

"Looks like we're going to have to do some old-fashioned canvassing," said Ryan. "Hit up every business and residence in the area to see if anyone recognizes her."

Gates came running into the squad room. "That's going to have to wait," she said. "There's been a shooting at Columbia."

And with those words, my life was stopped in its tracks.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter Five_

_Kate_

I could see by the crazed look in his eyes that telling Castle he couldn't go to the crime scene was not going to work. "We'll go with Ryan and Espo," I said, and we rushed outside. Castle wasn't paying attention; he was running with his eyes fixed on his cellphone, dialing frantically. I had to push a uniform cop out of his way or Castle would have plowed her right into the ground. We waited in front of the station for a moment until Ryan's car came screeching to a stop in front of us. "She's not answering!" shouted Castle as he piled into the back seat. "I'm sure she's fine, Castle," I said, trying to sound encouraging. "It's probably chaos over there, but Alexis is a smart girl, and I'm sure she's gotten somewhere safe."

Castle wasn't listening. He kept banging on his cellphone as though if he hit 'redial' harder, then Alexis would be able to sense the urgency and pick up. I wanted to reach out to him, grasp his hand, let him know that he wasn't alone, but I knew nothing would register with him right now. Outside the car, everything was a blur as we sped through the streets. Then Ryan hit a turn hard and and I slammed into Castle from the force, but he didn't even notice. We were right in front of Saint Luke's Hospital.

"Castle, we're here," I said. "Stay close to me."

I put on my bullet-proof vest and huddled up with Ryan and Esposito to coordinate a strategy. We seemed to be the first cops to arrive, but a couple of squad cars showed up right behind us. The area actually seemed calm; I had expected to see people running all over the place, screaming.

"Beckett," said Esposito, "three people are dead. 911 caller hung up before she said where the bodies were, though, so we're flying blind here."

Castle, however, wasn't waiting around for news. I heard him shout "answer the phone, Alexis!" and then he took off towards the nearest building. I knew I had to act fast.

"Espo," I said, "take two uniforms and head up to 116th street and go north. Ryan, take two more cops and go up to 120th and work your way south. And stay on the radio! Let's do this right and grab this asshole before the body count gets any higher. I'm going after Castle."

There was one uniform cop left. I thought about taking him with me, but he was just a kid and I didn't need a rookie slowing me down. Besides, we needed someone to feed us intel and direct the other cops who were on their way. I barked some cursory orders at him, then I drew my gun and started running in Castle's direction.

* * *

"How the hell am I going to find one gunman on a campus this big?" I thought. The building on my right didn't have any doors, so I ran until I found a gate with steps behind it. They led up and into the campus and I took them three at a time.

"Help me, somebody, help me!"

There was a girl heading right for me, waving her arms frantically. "I'm a cop," I said as I grabbed her.

"He just kept shooting and shooting," she cried. "He said he's going to kill all the girls."

"Listen," I said, "you're going to be fine, but I need your help. There's just one shooter, right? Where is he?"

"Yes, one. He's here, in the library," she said, pointing to the building on our left. Suddenly, the sound of automatic rifle fire filled the air, following by an explosion of glass.

"Down, get down!" I shouted to the students now running for their lives. No one did; they just started charging towards the stairs, and the street. There was more gunfire and I saw a student fall, then another. The girl with me tried to run, too, but I held her and pinned her to the building.

"Is there another way in there?" I asked

"Yes, on the street," she said. "Now I gotta go! Please let me go!"

I did, then I followed her to the sidewalk, pulling out my radio on the way. "Espo, Ryan, he's in the library on 114th street," I yelled. "He's shooting through the glass into the campus, so watch out. Now get your asses over here now!"

I didn't wait for an acknowledgment. I thought the street entrance would be obvious since there would be students pouring out of it, but there weren't any. I made my way west until I saw an overhang. There were two wood and glass doors under it, and I entered as quietly as I could. Then there were two inner doors that I suppose led into the library proper, but they didn't budge. "Barricaded," I muttered under my breath.

"Beckett!"

Castle came up behind me, to my great relief. "I saw all the commotion," he said. "Is the gunman in there?"

"Yes," I said. "Now give me a hand and help me get this door open."

Castle's phone beeped. "Oh, God," he said. "Alexis just texted me. She's in there. She's in the library."

* * *

_Rick_

I don't know what that son of a bitch put in front of this door, but it was heavy and made a terrible screech as it gave way. I was worried that we'd step inside and be greeted with the business end of a machine gun, but it was just a vestibule filled with racks of student pamphlets and library guides.

"Stay here," whispered Beckett, as though it would matter to me. She slipped into the library and headed right. I waited a few seconds, then headed left.

It was eerily quiet. I made my way along the wall, ducking behind desks where I could, keeping an eye out for any indication of Alexis. I heard a soft noise in the distance and looked for Beckett so I could point it out. She was nowhere in sight. I crouched and made my way to the circulation desk. The noise was a little louder, a little clearer. I gulped as the realization hit me: it was the sound of crying.

I knew I had to be patient; if I did something rash, he might start shooting. There was about ten feet between the circulation desk and the stacks. I figured I could make it there without being seen and the still have plenty of cover. There was about five feet between each row, giving me the chance to get closer a little bit at a time.

"This is the NYPD," came a voice over a bullhorn. Damn it! The last thing anyone needed was a professional police negotiator. I peeked around the end of the bookshelf and saw a group of students sitting in a circle. They all appeared to be girls.

"Don't come any closer!" cried a man's voice. "I've got hostages, and I'll kill them all!"

"I'm not here to hurt you," said the negotiator. "I just want to talk."

"No talking!" The gunman fired, taking out a few more windows to prove his point.

I crept over to the next stack and peeked around it. Still no sign of Alexis. And then I saw them. Two girls, lying on their sides, hands tied behind their backs.

I couldn't breathe and my chest was pounding. I started to sweat, and it trickled into my eyes, blinding me.

"My dad has money," came a voice cracking with emotion. "He'll pay you, I promise he will."

Alexis! Thank God. I slowly started to catch my breath and I wiped the sweat from my eyes.

"What are your demands?" asked the negotiator.

"You couldn't possibly understand what I want!" shouted the gunman. He fired off a few more rounds, and I heard the click of an empty magazine. He threw down the rifle, reached into a bag, and pulled out a pistol. Then he pointed it straight at the head of the girl sitting next to him. A girl who I now saw had long, red hair.

"Hey!" I shouted, stepping into view.

"Who the hell are you?" said the shooter.

"I'm just a guy," I said. "But I want to help. Let the girls go. I have money, I can set you up."

"You have money?" he said, and I cursed myself for tipping my hand. "Just like the little redhead's father. I guess today's killing is going to be a family affair."

He raised his pistol at me and flicked his wrist. I heard the blast and waited for the pain.

It never came. The gunman slumped to the ground, dead. Standing behind him with a gun held in a shooting position and a wisp of smoke rising from it, was Beckett.

"Daddy!" shouted Alexis. I ran to her and untied her wrists, then swept her up in my arms and sobbed into her shoulder.

"I'm so happy you're safe," I said over and over. She just cried and held me as tight as she could. We stood there hugging each other for at least a few minutes. When I finally looked up, I saw Beckett smiling at me.

"Thank you," I said, too softly for her to hear. She just nodded and walked away.

When Alexis and I made it out of the library, we ran into Beckett. She was talking to Esposito and gesturing to a couple of bodies still on the ground.

"Thank you, detective," said Alexis. "You saved my dad's life. And mine."

"All part of the job, Alexis," said Beckett.

"Dad's taking me to dinner at Jean Georges."

"I'm impressed," Beckett said. "Don't you need a reservation weeks in advance for a place like that?"

"The mayor's a fan," I said, trying not to smile.

"Ah, right. Friends in high places, I remember."

"Care to join us?" Alexis asked.

"I'd like that," said Beckett, "but I've got a lot of paperwork. Besides, you should spend some quality time with your dad. He's a pretty great guy."

"He's the best!" said Alexis, and I felt myself turning beet red.

"I guess I'll see you at the station tomorrow, Castle," said Beckett. "We'll have some loose ends to tie up and we could sure use your help."

"I'll be there," I said, and with that, Alexis and I left.


	6. Chapter 6

_Chapter Six_

_Rick_

During dinner, I watched Alexis closely. She seemed to be having a great time, all smiles and charm, but I wasn't convinced. How could she watch her friends killed right in front of her and not be affected? Three weeks ago, I was driving my Ferrari and a drunken idiot ran a red light. I hit the brakes so hard the car spun around several times and I ended up on the sidewalk. I called AAA to tow my car, then went home on the subway, too freaked out to drive. It took me a week to get in a cab again, and that was nothing compared to today, yet Alexis chatted away, happy as a songbird. She even made me an ice cream sundae when we got home. I desperately wanted to talk to her, but I knew I had to broach the subject as sensitively as I could.

"Alexis, I really think we need to talk about what happened," I said over a game of checkers. "I don't want you to blow this off, I want you to work through it. I'm worried that if you bottle it up inside, it'll eat away at you."

"I don't want talk right now, daddy," she said. "I mean, I know I need to deal with it or it will deal with me, but I'm just not ready for that yet. Besides, Columbia will take care of it. I already got an email from the dean of students saying that counselors and psychiatrists will be available for as long as anyone needs them. They always are when these things happen. Right now, I just want to go to bed and forget about it."

I hate that she said 'when these things happen,' as though school shootings were a common occurrence, but she was right, they are. Besides, talking to a professional trained to deal with them would be immeasurably better than talking to me or her grandmother.

"You'll let me know if you need anything?" I said. "Even if it's just a hug?"

"Especially if it's a hug," she said, and to prove her point, she sat next to me and hugged me for the best five minutes of my life. Then she went to bed.

Mother and I stayed up a while longer. We talked about how we could support Alexis, and how we expected this to affect her in the long run. Finally, at the end of a very long day, I turned in, fully prepared for a night filled with terrible images from a long and frightening day.

* * *

The first two times her crying woke me up, I held Alexis until she fell back asleep. The third time, mother came in with a cup of hot cocoa and a sleeping pill.

"Go ahead, take it," said mother. "You need uninterrupted sleep."

I nodded, but Alexis was having none of it. She handed the pill back to mother, then sat on the edge of the bed and drank the cocoa. After a few minutes of lying on her back with her eyes closed, she turned on her side, facing the wall, and drew her blanket over her shoulder. I leaned over and kissed her.

"Good night, sweetheart," I said. There was no reply. I turned off the light and was nearly out the door when I heard a sleepy voice say "stay here, daddy."

"I'm not going anywhere," I said. I pulled up a chair and prepared to keep watch over my beautiful, intelligent, sweet and very strong angel.

* * *

When I woke up, Alexis wasn't in bed. I looked at my watch. It was 7:45, still too early for me to be awake. I was about to head over to my own bedroom when I saw her. Meredith. My ex-wife and Alexis' mother. She was sleeping in a chair next to me, which meant mother had let her in, or Meredith had lied to me and made a copy of the key to my front door. I decided to let her sleep; the house would stay peaceful only as long as she was unconscious.

"Good morning, Richard," said mother as I reached for the coffee. "Now before you say anything, yes, I let Meredith in. But she _has _to be here, Richard. Alexis is her daughter, too."

"I know, mother," I said. "I just wish I had known beforehand. It would have given me a chance to place a garlic wreath around the door frame. Where's Alexis?"

"She went to the corner bodega to get some milk. She told me to tell you that if you get up before she returns, not to leave. She wants to talk to you. Not us, not you and Meredith, just you." She turned around, wiping a tear from her eye.

I felt bad for mother. I know that Alexis wasn't trying to hide anything from her, and she did, too, but that didn't make it any easier.

"Good morning, Rick."

For the second time that morning, Meredith had made a chill run down my spine. I wasn't afraid of her anymore; it was more like with her here, bad things were sure to follow. After all, we had gotten divorced for a reason. Actually, many, many reasons, 90% of which had to do with her selfishness.

"Morning, Meredith. Alexis should be back soon. She'll be happy to see you."

"Thank God she's OK," said Meredith. "I hopped a plane the moment Martha called me. Had to leave in the middle of a meeting, too."

I glared at mother, but she avoided my gaze. "It was hell out there, Meredith," I said. "I thought he was going to shoot me, but I didn't care, as long as he didn't hurt Alexis."

"You were there?" said Meredith. "Oh, Rick, thank God." She walked up to me, tears suddenly in her eyes, and took my hands. I had no idea what to say, so I just stood there, mute. Thankfully, the next thing I heard was the front door opening.

"Alexis!" cried Meredith.

They spent a few minutes hugging and crying, and then Alexis tore herself away. "I want to talk to you and gram," she said, "but first I have to talk to daddy. Alone."

Meredith was clearly surprised, but she didn't say anything. Alexis and I went into her bedroom and shut the door.

"I'm glad you decided to talk about it," I said.

"I realized something when I woke up this morning. I might be able to help you and detective Beckett understand the shooter. He talked for a while before he began shooting."

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then said "it was my Ethics class study group. There were twelve of us – seven girls and five guys. The first thing he did was let the guys go. We all thought–we thought he was going to rape us." She cleared her throat and looked away.

"Would you be more comfortable talking to detective Beckett about this?" I asked.

"No," she replied, "I want to tell you. But it's harder than I thought it was going to be."

"Take your time," I said.

Half an hour later, I was on my way to see Beckett to fill her in.

* * *

_Kate_

Castle showed up with two cups of coffee and a less arrogant version of that grin I first saw. I was happy to see him; he had shown me a lot yesterday. It was actually pretty impressive to see him go from macho to drunk to gentlemanly overnight. And the way he felt about Alexis was easily the sweetest thing I had ever seen in a man who wasn't my dad.

"Good morning, detective," said Castle. "Here you go." He handed me a cup of coffee with a big 'B' on the side.

"Thanks. How's Alexis?"

"She's good. She's on her way to Columbia with her mother and grandmother now to speak to a therapist."

"Excellent. That's sure to help," I said. "And now for some good news. We know who the shooter is." I walked over to the whiteboard and Castle followed.

"His name is James Andersen, 20 years old and a student at Columbia," I said, pointing at his picture. "The only thing I could find out from the dean of students' secretary is that he was expelled. She said only the dean would know why, but she was meeting with some parents so she couldn't come to the phone. I'm headed over there – want to come along?" _Please say yes. You owe it to my flutter. And me._

"Absolutely," he said. "But I have to tell you something first. Alexis told me what went on in the library before we got there." Castle took a deep breath before continuing. "Turn's out the guy was a misogynist. He told the girls he was going to kill every woman on campus because no one would date him. He even asked if any of them would go out with him. Alexis said she thought he didn't really mean it, since he had already made up his mind to kill them all. It was more like he thought that every girl he met would take one look at him and intrinsically hate him, and he was seeking validation for feeling that way. He said he had been rejected all his life. No girl ever gave him a chance, and if anyone ever did, she'd see there was nothing wrong with him, he was just misunderstood."

"We thought the reason he let the boys go was because he was afraid they gang up and overpower him," I said. "Well, this is good information. It helps flesh out the profile. Please thank Alexis for me."

My phone rang, and it was Lanie, so I put it on speaker.

"Good news," she said. "We got a ballistics hit from the perp's rifle. The bullets are a perfect match with the one from that Jane Doe two days ago. So now we know who her killer was. We just need to find out who _she_ was."

"That's great, Lanie," I said.

I was going to update the whiteboard when I saw Castle staring at it intently. "I just have the feeling that we're missing something," he said.

Ryan snapped his fingers. "Missing," he said. "Missing!" He started typing furiously. "Remember those missing persons reports I sorted? One of them was a Columbia student. Maybe that's the link." A few seconds later he said "I think I found her!"

I looked at his computer screen. It had a picture of a young woman on it.

"Meet Janet Hughes," Ryan said. "22, from Niagara Falls, a senior at Columbia."

"I'll tell Lanie," said Espo. "She can get started on pulling the dental records to confirm." He practically ran out of the room. I told Ryan to keep working the profile while Castle and I went to Columbia to see the dean of students. I reached for my desk drawer at the same time that Castle reached for his coffee cup. Our hands touched, just for an instant, and the flutter kicked in, full-tilt.

"I'll drive," I said.

Castle followed me out the door.


	7. Chapter 7

_Chapter Seven_

_Kate_

I was in a giddy mood, and why not? I stopped that SOB before he could kill anyone else (especially Castle), we had a solid lead on our Jane Doe, my flutter was going strong and it was Friday, which meant that my weekend of doing absolutely nothing would be starting in a few hours. But for me, giddiness tends to express itself in silliness, so I wasn't surprised to hear myself say "flutter, flutter, nutter butter." Of course, I was mortified the moment I finished saying it.

"What?" asked Castle.

"Nothing," I said, desperate to move on to something else. "So, any big plans for the weekend? I'll bet you and Alexis have something in mind."

"Actually, no. Her mother, Meredith, flew in from California as soon as she heard about the shooting. She's not here very often, so she and Alexis are going to spend some time together. They'll probably see "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in the park. Meredith won't be very happy about _that._"

"It's that Columbia education," I said. Castle laughed and said "yeah."

We arrived before either of us said anything else, and I was surprised that things still seemed chaotic on campus. I had expected it to be nearly deserted. There were people milling about; parents with their children, reporters, gawkers. We passed the library and there were people hard at work replacing the front window panes.

"I wonder if Alexis will ever be able to go in there again," said Castle.

* * *

The dean of students led us into her office. "I hope you understand how busy I am today," she said. "My first priority has to be the well-being of the students."

"We appreciate you taking the time to talk to us," I said. "It shouldn't take too long. "We're trying to get some background information on the shooter, James Anderson."

"Well," said the dean, "the long and short of it is that he was a profoundly disturbed person. He wrote a rambling and hateful manifesto against women, which brought him to my attention. It was so disturbing that we expelled him and called the police. They took a report and said they'd get back to us, but that was the day before yesterday. Anderson acted before the police could, I guess."

"The expulsion must have driven him over the top," I mused.

"How did you learn about the manifesto?" asked Castle.

"He was seeking help, actually," said the dean. "He saw a school psychologist, and he filled us in because he thought that Anderson was capable of hurting someone, which he obviously was. Anderson left the manifesto in his room after he moved out. Scared the hell out of us. We hired private security guards, but what we really needed was quick action by the police."

That was the second dig she took against New York's finest. I wasn't going to let it get to me, though.

"I'm guessing the cops that were here took the manifesto?" I asked.

"Yes, they did. We have copies of it, though. Hang on, I'll get you one." She rooted around in a nearby file cabinet and handed me a thick bundle of papers.

"The photocopies are good enough quality that you should be able to make out everything he wrote. And from what I understand, the Philadelphia police already took care of notifying Anderson's parents."

"Right," I said. "It'll take some time to go through this, but I wanted to ask you about one other student."

My phone buzzed. It was Espo, so I excused myself and stepped aside to take the call.

"Lanie made the match," he said. "It's Janet Hughes all right."

"Thanks, Espo. I'll get back to you."

"The Jane Doe?" Castle whispered in my ear. I nodded.

"I'm afraid I have one more piece of bad news," I said. "Anderson killed one other student, the day before yesterday. Her name is Janet Hughes."

"Damn it," said the dean. "Let me look her up."

After a minute of computer work, the dean said "she's a senior. Set to graduate in a few weeks. Sociology major, wrote a great thesis on the homeless situation in New York."

"The homeless situation?" said Castle. "That must be why she was living on the streets. She must have been blending in with the homeless to do research."

"Living on the streets?" said the dean. "I show her living on campus, at Harmony Hall."

"A missing person's report was filed about Janet, by a Maria Flores," I said.

"Maria is Janet's roommate. She didn't bring this to the school's attention, though. If she had it would be flagged in our database."

"We'll go talk to her," I said.

It's on 110th street, between Broadway and Amsterdam," said the dean. She wrote down the room number on a piece of paper and handed it to me. I thanked her for her help and Castle and I walked to Harmony Hall.

* * *

The door to Maria's room opened a crack, revealing a heavy security chain.

"NYPD," I said , holding up my badge. "Are you Maria Flores?"

"Let me take a closer look at it," said Maria. I held it right in front of the crack and she scrutinized it, then opened the door.

"Sorry about that," said Maria. "After yesterday, you can't be too careful."

"Of course," I said. "Mind if we sit down?"

"Please do," said Maria and she sat on her bed while Castle and I took the chairs from the two desks in the room.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news about Janet," I said.

"Did you find her?" asked Maria, her voice cracking under the stress. "What happened to her?"

"She was killed, the day before yesterday. By the same guy who killed the other six students."

Maria burst into tears. "We're so sorry for your loss," I said. Castle offered her his handkerchief, which she accepted. She dabbed at her eyes a bit, cried some more, dabbed again. Finally, she composed herself.

"I knew that was going to happen," she said.

"How did you know?" asked Castle.

"I'm a psych major," said Maria. "We're allowed to sit in on sessions with students if they OK it, which he did. And he was a major piece of work. I was frightened just being in the same room with that guy. He had nothing to say but hateful things about women, and he didn't seem sorry at all. After the session, the professor called the dean's office to report his behavior and say that he was going to need long-term psychiatric help. I left for home about an hour later and I was just about to open the door when he appeared out of nowhere. He asked me out, and of course I said no. He called me a bitch and started yelling that I was just like all the other girls. Janet heard the commotion and opened the door. Then he asked_ her _out, if you can believe it. She kicked him in the nuts and we hurried inside and locked the door. I called campus security and they came by. They told us that his expulsion was in the works and the matter had been turned over to the police."

"My God," I said.

"When Janet disappeared, I feared the worst," said Maria. "She had been gone for a few days at a time before, but this time I thought he must have done something to her."

"Maria, the dean told us she wrote a thesis on the homeless, said Castle. "Was her research finished?"

"I think so. We're pretty much winding down to graduation now."

"When she left before, was it to live on the streets to do research?"

"Yes. She was deeply concerned about the homeless. It was like a crusade for her. And she got to be friends with a lot of street people."

"She must have turned to the streets to hide from Anderson," said Castle. "Whatever happened when he followed her around campus must have really freaked her out."

"Do you have Janet's parent's number?" I asked.

"No," said Maria. "She said they didn't believe in technology, so they don't have phones. Probably Luddites, I'm thinking."

"Maria, thank you for your help. Good luck in your career."

"When you talk to Janet's parents, please tell them how sorry I am."

"I will," I said.

_Niagara Falls. Seven hours away. So much for my weekend of solitude._

* * *

_Rick_

"That was intense," I said on our way to Beckett's car. "It amazing how much misery one misguided person can inflict upon the world."

"I hate these kind of cases," said Beckett. "I'm always torn between hating the creep and feeling sorry for him because he needs help. And he knew it, too, or he wouldn't have sought counseling at school. I guess he was just too far gone to be helped."

"I know what you mean," I said. "Homelessness is one problem that needs more attention; mental illness is another."

Beckett just sighed. We were nearly at her car when my stomach started growling, hopefully not loud enough for her to hear.

"You know," I said, "I'm starving. Care to join me for lunch? I'm buying."

Beckett thought about it for a second, then dazzled me with that smile and said "sure. Where should we go?"

"I know a great tavern nearby. It's called 'The Old Haunt.'"

"Sounds like my kind of place," said Beckett.

* * *

"Castle, there's something I want to ask you," said Beckett over lunch. "You don't have to answer if you don't want, but what happened to the swaggering, cocky guy I first met? You came strutting into the station house like you owned the place, and the next day, you were actually sweet and attentive. That's a pretty drastic change overnight."

"Well," I said, "it was my mother who called me on my B.S. She told me yesterday, when I was hung over, that I was making a mess out of my life. I was single, and there were no indications that was going to change, but when she told me that I was being a bad example for Alexis, that really hit home. Alexis means the world to me, and I can't risk losing her. And mother told me to get my act together and to do something that I haven't done yet. She told me to apologize to you for acting like an ass. And I understood, even in my drunken stupor, that she was right. So it's time for me to rectify that boorish behavior."

I looked her straight in the eyes and took her hands in mine. "I'm sorry, Beckett," I said. "You don't deserve to be treated that way. I figured that out yesterday morning, and it was reinforced when you started telling me about your work. I knew right then that you're a pretty remarkable woman."

I cleared my throat. This was getting harder. "And then you saved my life, and Alexis' too. I'm a writer, and I can't find a way to express how much that means to me. Then this guy and his hatred of women..."

I couldn't go on. Beckett turned her head away for a few seconds, and when she looked back at me, I felt that twitch going a million miles an hour.

"Apology accepted," she said, not letting go of my hands. I had a sudden thought.

"My turn to ask you something," I said. "What happened to the tough-talking cop I first met? I had a feeling you were going to take me to a windowless room and work me over."

"_Storm Watch_," she said. "I re-read it Wednesday night. And I read that inscription of yours about twenty times. And then I realized something in the word _Stanford_. You wished me good luck, but I graduated, and luck had nothing to do with it. I worked hard for four years, even though I suffered some major trauma part way through, and I came out of it my own person. But I thought that the other cops would respect me more if I played their game, so I did. I cracked wise with suspects, I gave Gates shit, I leaned on witnesses. But damn it, I'm a good cop, and I don't need to play anybody else's game. I just need to do my job the best way I can, and as long as I'm catching murderers, that's all that matters. Let the cops think I'm not one of them. I know who I am."

"I think I know who you are, too," I said.

* * *

Police work isn't all tracking down suspects and shooting it out with them; there's a mountain of busy work, too. I sat in the coffee room while Becket filled out reports. I could have gone home, of course, but the weekend was staring me in the face, and Alexis was going to be busy with Meredith. It was the perfect opening to ask Beckett on a date. Just as I was about to ask her to step aside for a minute, she showed up.

"Guess what?" she said. "We've been trying to track down Janet Hughes' parents location. And Columbia has their last known address as Summersby House. It's a temporary homeless shelter in Niagara Falls."

I hung my head and sighed. "That explains her research."

"Yeah," said Beckett. "Well, I'm going to call it a night. I'm headed to Niagara Falls tomorrow to find the parents and notify them. Can't let this wait too long." She held out her hand and I shook it.

"It's been nice working with you, Castle," she said. "Maybe we can do it again, sometime. Just don't find yourself at any more murder scenes, OK?"

"Beckett," I said, "Niagara Falls is a pretty long drive."

"Seven hours," she said.

"Care for some company?"

She thought about it for a second. "I was planning to leave early, Castle. Six AM."

"I can do that," I said. "Shall I pick you up?"

"Tell you what," she said, "you can meet me here. And I'm bringing the coffee."

"Then I'm driving," I said. I went home, twitching all the way.

* * *

"Nice wheels," said Beckett as I opened the door of my Ferrari for her.

"I feel like you own part of it," I said. "I bought this with royalties from the Derrick Storm novels."

"Don't worry, Castle. I won't keep it for more than a few weeks at a time."

I laughed, and then we were on our way upstate. We didn't say anything while we were in the city, we just listened to the news. But once New York was behind us, I shut off the radio. It was then that I noticed that heavenly, tropical scent again, like suntan lotion, which drives me wild. I glanced at Beckett and shook my head; I couldn't be thinking about her on the beach in a bikini right now. Besides, I needed my eyes for watching the road; it curved a lot in this neck of the woods, and now I was thinking about curves, necks and wood, which only hindered my concentration more. Damned twitch wouldn't go away either.

We stopped for breakfast at 8:30. I gassed up the car; it only got about 18 miles a gallon on the highway. Nothing says "I'm rich" more than buying Ferrari _and_ getting their least economical model to boot. Beckett put on a pair of sunglasses and we were on our way again.

We made small talk all the way to Niagara Falls and got there about 1:30. We stopped at a gas station to get a map and gas up for the fourth time. The magnetic strip on my American Express Black card was rapidly wearing away.

"Summersby House isn't far from here," said Beckett.

"Let's hit it," I said.

The manager at Summersby House was nice, but he couldn't help us. "I haven't seen Don and Laura for weeks," he said. I looked around the place. It was basically an auditorium filled with row after row of beds so close to each other they practically touched. The thought of going from this place to my Ferrari and driving away made me feel sick.

"You're looking for Don and Laura Hughes?" said a voice near Beckett.

"Yes, we are," she said. "We're from the NYPD. We have some information about their daughter."

While Beckett was talking, I quickly wrote a check for $5,000 and gave it to the manager with a finger over my lips. He looked at it and his face lit up. "Thank you," he whispered.

Beckett tapped me on the shoulder. "Joey here says the Hughes' are usually at Aquarium of Niagara on Saturdays," she said. "Sometimes they can do a bit of work cleaning up after the patrons."

"Thanks, Joey," I said. Then Beckett and I were off to the aquarium.

* * *

_Kate_

It didn't take long to find them. They were both sweeping up bits of paper and half-eaten soft pretzels. People were so thoughtless, which I guess was good, since it gave people like the Hughes' a way to make a little bit of money.

"The police?" said Laura after I introduced myself. "What's wrong?"

"We'd better sit down," I said.

We found a nearby table and Castle shooed a few people away so we could have some privacy.

"This is about Janet," I said.

"Janet? Who's Janet?" asked Laura.

"Please excuse my wife," said Don. "She has a touch of Alzheimer's. What's wrong? Is Janet OK?"

I struggled to get the words out. "I'm afraid she's dead," I said. "She was killed in New York by a madman. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, God," said Don, and he buried his head in Janet's shoulder and wept.

"Don't worry," said Laura, stroking Don's hair, "mama's here."

I honestly don't know how I held it together at that point, but I reached into my book bag and pulled out a set of papers. "Here," I said, offering them to Don. "It's Janet's senior thesis. You should have it to remember her. It's a wonderful work, and if you read it, you'll know how much she loved you both."

"She worked so hard for that scholarship," said Don. "We were so proud that she could go to Columbia."

"Mr. Hughes, I'd like to pay to have Janet's body shipped up here," said Castle. "I'll pay for the funeral, too. It's the least I can do. Your daughter's story touched me deeply."

"You would do that?" said Don. "But you don't even know us!"

"I feel like I do, actually. It's all there in Janet's paper. And before we go, I wanted to tell you that Janet's roommate at Columbia, Maria Flores, wanted you to know she's sorry too. She genuinely liked Janet. I get the feeling that a lot of people did."

Castle and I gave Don our business cards and I said "please call either of us if there's anything we can do for you, Mr. Hughes. Goodbye, Mrs. Hughes. Take care."

"You know," said Castle after we had driven a few miles, "I've never been here before."

"I haven't either," I said.

"Why don't we park, get some fresh air and walk over to Horseshoe Falls? It'll help take your mind off of today."

"That sounds like a great idea," I said.

We drove over the First Street Bridge to a place called Goat Island. The falls, even though I couldn't see them for the trees, were deafening. Castle found a place to park and we walked the rest of the way holding hands.

They were breathtaking. I simply could not believe it. Fortunately, there weren't too many people around. There was a slight breeze in the air, and I closed my eyes and let the mist cover my face. Then I felt Castle's hands on my cheeks. I kept my eyes closed.

"Beckett," he whispered.

"Shut up and kiss me, Castle," I said. I felt his lips, so soft yet so powerful, on mine, and this time, I didn't fight the flutter.

* * *

_Rick_

We had dinner at Top of the Falls restaurant. The food wasn't that great, but the view was spectacular and the staff was very friendly. As we were having a cup of after-dinner coffee, I got a text from home.

"Alexis dragged mother to A Midsummer Night's Dream after all," I said. "She loved it, and Meredith pretended to. And get this. Alexis said we work well together. Castle and Beckett, solving a murder. She said she's going to start referring to us as Caskett."

Beckett laughed. "I've been called worse," she said.

I looked at my watch. "It's almost eight," I said. "We won't get back to the city until 3."

"Castle, there are plenty of hotels around here. We could get a good night's sleep and start fresh tomorrow morning. Or not."

I was shocked. Beckett was staring at her cup of coffee, avoiding eye contact.

"OK," I said.

* * *

_Flutter_

Castle stopped at a liquor store for a bottle of champagne while I looked on the map for a nice hotel. The Sheraton would have suited me, but Castle insisted on a place with covered parking. I found a place called _The Swans _across the river and Castle agreed.

"I think I just heard my credit card wheeze," he said as he paid for the room.

After nine hours of driving around in a Ferrari, I wanted a bath desperately. _The Swans_ billed itself as the "hotel for newlyweds with discerning taste," but the fire code didn't allow candles in the rooms, so they had a panel on the wall to control the lights that looked like backstage at a Rolling Stones concert.

"Coming, Castle?" I said, stepping into the bathroom.

"Give me a little credit!" he said.

I was luxuriating in the world's most comfortable bathrobe when I felt Castle wrap his arms around me from behind. He began to kiss my neck, and I felt my knees giving out. He tugged at the knot across my waist and worked it loose. I opened the robe and let it slip off my shoulders and onto the floor.

The water was perfect; warm and bubbly. I grinned as Castle followed me into the tub. Fortunately, he didn't notice or he might have taken it the wrong way, but he certainly had nothing to worry about. I felt almost childish; the sheer joy of this new and very physical love was making us giggle uncontrollably. Castle could do things with a sponge that made me gasp; I returned the favor in a way that made us both realize we were ready for the next phase. The water had turned cold, and our bodies were like giant raisins, but Castle lifted me out of the tub and dried me off. Then he carried me to the bed and laid me softly on it. I slipped between the sheets and Castle fumbled with eight or nine light switches until we were finally in total darkness.

It was amazing. It was beyond amazing, it was astonishing. I've had lovers before, of course, but I had never had a love like this. I think it's because Castle and I were both looking for the same thing. We were looking for adults in a world peopled with emotional children. The funny thing is, we both acted like children when we met, but we that underneath the veneer there was something more. I saw it in his novels and the way he felt about his daughter. He saw it in my dedication to my job, and the fact that despite the fact that I was a woman in a man's world, I could more than hold my own. And an hour after the lights went off, I fell asleep in Castle's arms, having spent one of the most emotional, trying and wonderful days of my life with him. It would be the first of many.

* * *

_Twitch_

How do you repay a woman for saving your life? Let's just say I gave it my all. The time I spent with Beckett that night made me realize exactly what I was missing in my life. She gave herself to me emotionally as well as physically; this was a deeper relationship than I felt with either of my ex-wives. She was receptive to everything I did, and when she took the lead, I felt that she wasn't just trying to please me, she was trying to connect with me. And it worked, because I felt we were in sync. It was like the yin yang; she would act, I'd react, and vice versa, but the circle always remained intact. For a long time, I had wondered why I couldn't make a relationship work, and even though this one was in its earliest stages, I felt a strange confidence that I had never felt before. Maybe it was because we had both decided to stop putting on airs. We had seen each other at our most vulnerable moments, and come out of it with a deeper respect for each other. And that made all the difference. I held her while she fell asleep, and she twitched this way and that, and wouldn't you know, even our twitches complemented each other perfectly.

The next morning, I woke up with Beckett in my arms. She was already awake, and tracing little patterns on my chest with her fingers. We ordered room service, took a shower and prepared to hit the road.

"Let's go home, Beckett," I said.

"Your place or mine?"

"It doesn't matter. One thing I've learned these past few days with you: home is where the Caskett is."


End file.
